


beside one another

by sithsecrets



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canto Bight, F/M, Holding Hands, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Reader-Insert, Sharing a Bed, all the rich people are afraid of din, cuddling but not really, staying in a hotel, there was only one bed ya'll!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28202178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithsecrets/pseuds/sithsecrets
Summary: The hunt for a quarry takes the Mandalorian and his crew member to a fancy hotel in Canto Bight. The two lie beside one another under the cover of darkness, and the meaning of home comes into sharp focus.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 202





	1. i

When Mando tells you that the next quarry’s hiding out in Canto Bight, you can’t help how excited you sound when you ask how long you’ll be staying. He’s his usual stoic self, even in the face of your curiosity, but you do detect a hint of annoyance in his voice as he tells you not to get excited.

“But it’s Canto Bight!” you declare, and the baby echoes your tone by cooing brightly on your hip. “It seems so glamorous!”

“You’ll feel differently once we get there,” Mando states, and then he’s punching coordinates into the navigation system, seemingly done discussing the matter. You buckle into the passenger seat with the baby, settling him on your lap so he gets a good view through the windshield during takeoff. He loves this part for some reason, despite all the rattling and the noise, and he squeals in utter joy like you thought he would.

“At least _someone’s_ excited,” you declare, teasing the Mandalorian for being so grumpy. The man himself says nothing to this, but you’re too pleased with yourself and the prospect of visiting a new place to care.

Before Mando hired you to be his one and only crew member, you’d never really left the Tatoo System. Sure, you’d made a quick trip to here and there, visited a moon or two in your time, but never anything of substance. New places are your favorite thing to collect right now, and you can’t wait to cross Cantonica off your list. You heard stories of Canto Bight when you were little, saw a few holograms of the opulent streets— you can’t wait to see it all in person, even if Mando’s not excited in the slightest. You’re sure it’s different for him, all the traveling and the going to places he’s never been, but the novelty hasn’t worn off for you yet.

The journey to Cantonica is a short one, and before you know it, the Crest is touching down in a sleek, high-class receiving hangar. The landing coordinator sounds like a snob over the comm, making more than one comment about the state of the Crest. But the tone shifts completely once you, Mando, and the baby emerge from the ship, all of the personnel suddenly _very_ accommodating. You’re used to seeing people (the smart ones, anyway) regard Mando with equal parts respect and fear, but this is just excessive. Someone ushers you and the baby out of the sun and into a small office, rushing to offer you a cool drink, and the foreman himself comes out to talk business. The content of he and Mando’s conversation is lost on you, though you do get to watch them talk through a little window.

(Later, you’ll learn that the man let Mando park the Crest here for a fifth of the usual price, but this won’t come as surprise by the time you find out.)

Mando hails a cruiser for the three of you, and then you’re zooming across the dessert on your way to Canto Bight. As the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, the lights of the city become brighter and brighter on the horizon, stoking your excitement. Mando’s minding the baby, so you get to fully enjoy the ride, taking in all you can as the vehicle flies over the sand. Within minutes, sand becomes grass, grass becomes pavement, and then you’re in Canto Bight proper, surrounded on all sides by wealth and luxury. The driver drops the three of you off in front of a grand hotel, and then he’s off without a word, speeding away to pick up another fare.

You, Mando, and the baby make your way inside, and you’re immediately blindsided by the realization that this hotel isn’t a place for you, not really. The interior, much like the building’s exterior, is more opulent than any other building you’ve ever been to, but it’s the _people_ that make you feel like you’re a stain on their carpet. Every single being in the lobby, human or alien, is made up in the galaxy’s finest fabrics and most expensive jewels. They glitter and gleam in the light, and your casual, comfortable clothes looks like rags in comparison. A ball of nervous, self-conscious energy forms in your stomach, the anxiety only made worse by the fact that all eyes are on you. Well, all eyes are on _Mando_ , as they so often are, but you as part of his entourage are subject to scrutiny by mere association. Thankfully, the patrons of this establishment seem more awed than judgmental, but that doesn’t the attention is any less disconcerting.

Before you and Mando can so much as _approach_ the reception desk, you’re stopped short by a man dressed in sharp clothes. His dark hair is perfectly combed and parted, and you catch a hint of expensive cologne as he introduces himself as the resort manager. Mando declines to shake his hand, but you let the man squeeze your palm for a brief moment.

“We need to book a room,” Mando states, trying to use this as an excuse to end the exchange. The resort manager, however, brushes off the attempt with ease.

“That’s already been taken care of, sir.” He gestures towards the elevators with one well-manicured hand, smiling what you can only describe as a customer service smile. “If you follow me this way, I can show you and your companions to your accommodations.”

“We don’t have lines of credit on this planet,” Mando cuts, tone taking on an edge as fishes around for some money. “We just want—”

“Sir,” the resort manager presses, and you have to admire the way he keeps his voice steady even though he looks like he might piss his pants any second, “I assure you that it’s been take care of. Now please, follow me.”

Mando pauses for a moment, staring down this well-dressed, handsome man as if to size him up. But then he nods, and Mr. Manager leads the three of you to the elevators. You ride up up up in a private car, sitting in relative silence the whole way. The manager does most of the talking, asking a few subtly invasive questions about why you’re here— right up until Mando essentially tells him to fuck off. After that, conversation centers mostly around the baby and the amenities available at the hotel, and then you’re walking out into a quiet corridor. It’s not a private floor by any means, but the spacing of the doors lets you know that not many people stay up here. That’s a bit of a relief, at least in your opinion, because the guests here seem _rowdy_. And drunk. So fucking _drunk_ …

The suite is— Well, the suite is fucking ridiculous, to put it bluntly. It’s four rooms, five if you count the little kitchen area as its own space, and everything is decorated just so. The furnishings are opulent, the upholstery is rich— the ‘fresher alone is bigger than the common area of the home you grew up in. The manager says something about how you shouldn’t hesitate to ask for anything you need, but you barely here him, awestruck in a way by the luxury all around you. Mando sees your escort out, and you can’t believe how casual he’s being about all of this.

“Do—?” The baby makes a discontent noise, ready to be let out of his pram, and you lower him down without giving the action much thought. “Do people always do things like this for you, or…?”

Mando turns to look at you. “Only when they’re scared shitless. As far as all those people are concerned, they’re my next quarry.”

Having received the message, you leave the conversation at that, opting to go and unpack instead of prodding Mando further. The baby toddles about the suite at his leisure, oscillating between cooing at his father and playing on the bed while you work. He’s broken into a basket of complimentary snacks, and you watch as he munches on cookies and chips and a full range of other fine foods. You should probably stop him on the premise of all that ruining his dinner, but Mando’s making noises about going out to do some reconnaissance this evening. With him gone, it’ll just be you and the kid, and you think he can have a treat just this once. Besides, he might crash from the sugar rush, and you could score an evening to yourself in this big fancy hotel room.

“Send me a comm if I’m not here when you wake up,” is all Mando says before he leaves, though he does tilt his head in acknowledgement when you tell him to be safe.

As you suspected, the Child begins to wind down not long after his father leaves, lapsing into a junk food-induced coma with a bag of chips still clenched tightly in his little green hand. You clean up his face and lay him down in his pram for the night, tucking his blankets just so before you click the cover shut.

Virtually alone now, there’s not much for you to do besides bathe and get ready for bed. And so, you do just that, lingering in the bathtub simply because you can. When the water’s gotten too cool for your liking, you climb out and play with the products that have been left out on the countertop, rubbing some expensive lotion into your skin. After that, it’s time to curse quietly to yourself in the bedroom— in all your haste and excitement to pack for this trip, you managed to forget to bring something to sleep in. Mando packed two extra shirts for himself instead of one, however, and you study one of them at arm’s length for a long moment. Wearing another person’s clothes to bed is definitely something you should ask permission to do, that much you know, but… but Mando’s not here, and you need something to wear now. Finally, you slip the garment over your head, deciding that you’ll just apologize later if he gets worked up about it.

Dressed and freshly bathed, your next order of business is to procure some food for yourself. The baby’s still asleep when you get out of the bathtub, so you forgo getting him anything. You do, however, order something that’ll be good for Mando later, something filling that can be eaten lukewarm or even cold when he gets back. Everything is delicious, and you climb into bed full and content.

Even though you’re tired, sleep doesn’t come easily. You find yourself thinking of Mando, and you lie awake wondering what he’s up to— wondering if he’s safe. He’s always doing this, going out for indeterminate amounts of times to hunt his prey, and you worry about him each and every time he’s gone. It’s silly, you know, and for so many reasons. He’s a Mandalorian, for the Maker’s sake— he can take care of himself just fine— and it’s not like he’s yours to fuss over anyway. Sure, the man employs you, but your emotional investment in his safety has grown a bit _intense_ over these past few months. As much as you hate to admit it, Mando’s different to you now, more important than he used to be. The fact that you have feelings for him at all like this is borderline idiotic, but… but sometimes you wonder if he feels things for you too. You don’t have any concrete evidence, your assumptions largely based off of two passing comments and the tilt of his helmet, but still, you cling to the hope that he wants you the same way you want him.

It takes some time, but the sounds of the city do eventually lull you to sleep. You don’t wake again until the early hours of the morning, disturbed by movement in the other room. The clang of Mando’s spurs is a dead giveaway, and you relax as soon as you realize that it’s just him. You try to settle down and drift off again, but you find that you’re suddenly wide awake. So instead, you listen to Mando go about his business, tracking his footsteps from room to room. You hear the shower run in the ‘fresher for a little while, and then a chair scrapes against the floor in the dining room a few minutes after that. The tinkling of a utensils tells you that Mando’s eating the food you got for him, and he must like it, too, because he doesn’t just inhale the plate and move on.

Earlier, after you and Mando realized that the suite only has one bed, he offered to sleep on the couch, and you’d agreed to that. Now, though, you don’t like the idea of him trying to fold his beskar-clad body up on the cushions in the living room. He’s the reason the three of you got this room in the first place, even if he never asked for the special treatment, and you think he’s entitled to at _least_ sleep on the ridiculously soft bed. Still, it’s a presumptuous thing, asking him to lie down with you, and you’re not sure you’re brave enough to do it. You are brave enough, however, to ask him how his surveillance mission went, so you slip out of bed and pad towards the dining room.

“Mando?” you call, voice sounding rather loud in the still darkness. You wouldn’t want to catch him without his helmet on, so you’re giving him a warning.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Mando affirms, and you know the coast is clear by the electronic tinge to his voice.

He’s still sitting there at the table when you turn the corner, and the Mandalorian does seem a bit taken aback by the sight of you. Only now do you remember that you’re wearing his clothes, and two thoughts cross your mind: Will he be pissed with you? Does this shirt even cover your ass properly?

“Is—? You’re wearing my clothes.” Mando is expressionless in the helmet, of course, but the tilt of his voice is indicative of surprise.

You flush, tugging on the hem of the shirt. “Yeah, I— I forgot to pack something to sleep in, and you had an extra one. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” the Mandalorian says at once, cutting you off. A pause, and then he’s much more collected, much more like himself again. “It’s not a problem, really. No big deal.”

You nod at that, and then things are casual again. You ask Mando if he got any good information about his quarry, and he says that he did. He thanks you for getting him some dinner, and you say that it was no trouble.

“The baby’s sleeping?”

“Yeah,” you affirm, jerking your head towards the bedroom. “I have him in his pram. I think all the sweets put him in a diabetic coma.”

Mando doesn’t laugh, but the little huff that comes from his vocoder is enough to tell you that the joke landed. “Good,” he says, “I’m glad somebody’s getting some rest.”

There’s a lull in conversation, the two of you looking at one another from opposite ends of the dimly lit dining room. You lean in the doorway, mock-casual as you toy with the hem of your borrowed shirt.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know,” you say softly, finding it difficult to make eye contact with the visor as you speak.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” the Mandalorian replies. “You got in bed first, so I’m not going to make you move now—”

“No, no,” you chide, interrupting him. “I—”

You take a breath, deciding that now is as good a time as any. It’s time to rip off the bandage, and if this goes to shit, you can always chalk your actions up to exhaustion later.

“I mean, you could come lie down in bed too,” you say quickly, fidgeting nervously. “With _me_.”

Mando doesn’t say or do anything for one long, agonizing moment, and you’re sure you’re going to throw up. But then…

“Do you want me to lie down with you?”

His voice is quiet through the modulator, almost soft in a way, and the sound of it makes something inside you flutter.

“Yeah.”

You’re almost whispering, and you wonder what the Mandalorian thinks of you in this moment, how you look to him standing there in his clothes, asking him to come to bed with you. It must not be an ugly sight in his eyes, because he stands and walks to you, murmuring, “Come on.”

Mando checks on the baby as you crawl back in bed, rearranging the Child’s blankets, giving him an affectionate little pat. The pram clicks closed, and then Mando’s faltering at the edge of the bed.

“I can’t—” His abandons his words in favor of a display, gesturing towards the armor on his body, to the room as a whole. “This isn’t—”

“I know,” you say softly, because you do. The armor makes him feel safe, makes him feel strong, and he won’t be able to sleep if he takes it off in this strange, foreign environment. “Just take your boots off. Or are those made of beskar too?”

It’s a silly joke, but it earns you a little huff through the vocoder nonetheless.

“No,” Mando retorts, tone light. He takes off more than just his boots, unclipping his utility belt before he sits down on the edge of the bed. It takes Mando a minute to unlace his boots, but when he’s done, he finally lies down beside you, not even untucking the blankets on his side.

“You don’t want some covers?”

Mando shakes his head, and you have to admit that his big, beskar-clad body looks out of place in this even bigger, soft bed. You wonder idly if it would be different on the ship, if Mando would take all the armor off and lie beside you there too. You could never ask him to take the helmet off, that would be too much, but if he was on his own turf instead of holed up in some hotel suite… It’s too late to be worried about all of that now, though, so you force yourself to relax and enjoy this moment.

“This place is sort of fancy,” Mando says to you, voice cutting through the darkness, and you nod in agreement.

“Yeah, but I like the Crest better.”

“Really?”

You nod again. “It’s… warmer. Everything in this city is so cold. The building’s are pretty, and the streets make a pretty picture, but nobody’s supposed to _live_ here. It’s all for show. Very plastic. I see why you weren’t excited to come here.”

Mando says nothing to this, though somehow you know that he’s not taking pleasure in being right.

Feeling bold, you move a bit closer to the Mandalorian. “I’ll be happy to go home.”

“I’m getting the quarry tomorrow,” Mando says, “probably before nightfall. We can be back on the Crest and off Cantonica before it’s time for us to sleep again.”

You like to think there’s a promise in that, an indication of what’s to come, but you’ll just have to wait and see. You’ll just have to _hope_.

“Good.”

And as your last act of bravery for the night, you reach out across the sheets and grab Mando’s hand.

He doesn’t pull away.


	2. ii

Mando doesn’t come lay down beside you that first night after you leave Cantonica, and it’s not looking like tonight will go any better. It’s… _disheartening_ , to say the least, but you’re not entirely sure he doesn’t want to.

Everything was good the morning after the two of you slept together. The baby woke up in a fantastic mood, and Mando was able to capture his quarry with ease. The ride back to the Crest was a quiet one, but you still enjoyed it.

It was like everything went to shit the minute you set foot in the ship.

The quarry kicked up a fuss with Mando in the back of the hull, and the noise upset the baby. You and Mando managed to handle everything, and takeoff went off without a hitch. But then Mando got a comm from Greef Karga, and the two of them spent a long time talking in the cockpit about a new high-value quarry. Greef said he would give Mando the puck if he came to Nevarro by the next day, and Mando of course agreed. The two of you were headed that way anyway, and why wouldn’t he rush to pick up such an expensive assignment?

Flying through hyperspace, you made yourself and the baby ready for bed just a couple of hours later. Mando took his dinner in the cockpit while you showered, and it was like the two of you were completely out of sync after that, you winding down while he was just getting started.

You lingered by your little bed for a while, the baby sleeping soundly in his pram, but Mando hardly seemed to notice. He was busy doing this and that, tracking all throughout the hull. Finally, you not-so-subtly announced that you were going to sleep, and it was enough to make him pause for about half a second.

“I’m going to look over some of my weapons and do some maintenance on my armor before I turn in. Let me know if I’m being too loud.”

You tried not to look completely defeated, though it felt like your heart crumbled to ash in your chest.

“Alright,” was all that you’d said to that, and it took everything in your not to cry as you mustered up a smile.

After overthinking the last thirty-six hours for the better part of forty-five minutes you finally did fall asleep. You woke up just before the Crest broke atmosphere, and now you’re trekking through the bazaar with the baby on your hip, on your way to the meeting. Personally, you don’t think your attendance is necessary, but Mando feels otherwise. The way he talks, everybody wants to see you and the baby, but you’re not sure that’s true.

Hearing the Child’s squeals of delight and Greef playfully tosses him up in the air brightens your mood a little bit, and you’re less gloomy as you slide into the booth beside Mando. As per usual, they get right down to business, discussing the ramifications of taking this assignment. The quarry’s worth a fortune, but he’s hiding out on Hoth of all places. It’ll be a long journey over there, and the weather will be absolutely shit once you arrive. There’s not much in the way of a proper city on that shithole, save for a few small outposts, so you’ll need to stock up before you leave Nevarro. Despite all of this, Mando still says yes, and you don’t blame him— the price is just too good to pass up.

You barely have a second to breathe before Mando’s hauling you back to the ship, already listing off things that need to be done. The first thing you do is survey what clothes you, him, and the baby have, plucking at fabrics, checking for defects in the garments. You and the baby will be fine inside the ship, but Mando will be out in the elements. You mend a few of his thicker shirts and decide that those will get him through until he can find lodging.

The baby sits by as you inventory virtually everything else on the ship as well. Food, medical supplies, blankets— nothing is too trivial. Mando hangs back as you prepare for a massive shopping trip, saying that he has to visit the Armorer before he leaves. You’re distracted while he’s talking, but you do take him up on his offer to take the Child along with him.

By the time you’re done eating and bathing late that evening, you’re ready to fall asleep on your feet. Mando gets the baby down for the night, and though you’d love nothing more than to snuggle up next to him, beskar and all, you don’t have the energy for games. He’s a grown man— if he wants to lie down with you, he will.

… He doesn’t. Or at least you don’t think he does.

To be frank, you’re not even sure Mando sleeps at all that night. He wakes you up after seven or eight hours, telling you that the Crest will make landing on Hoth soon. The baby’s already been changed into his warmest outfit, so all you have to do is get yourself dressed. You pull on a couple of extra layers and then go about your usual morning routine, nibbling on some breakfast and entertaining the Child until the Crest breaks atmosphere.

You’re actually on Hoth for all of about fifteen minutes before Mando moves to leave, and only as he’s walking out the door do you realize what he’s about to do. It’s not like you’ve been angry with him these past few days or anything, but…

“Mando,” you blurt, catching him just before he opens the side door. He turns to you, and you’re suddenly wonder if beskar is a good insulator. “…Will you let me know you’re safe every so often? Just whenever you can?”

He nods, simply staring at you for one long moment.

“I’ll be back soon.”

And then Mando’s gone, exiting the Crest in a gust of icy wind that cuts you to the bone. The anxiety sets in almost immediately, clawing its way up inside your chest. There’s nothing for you to do now except wait, and you think that’s the worst part about all of this.

It feels like it takes an eternity, but two days do pass. You spend most of your time talking to the baby and tidying up, washing a few loads of clothes, wiping down a surface or five. You also worry about Mando, you worry about him _a lot,_ but it’s the kind of concern that plays in the back of your mind like a song on loop.

Finally, just before you fall asleep that second night, Mando sends you a comm. You bolt straight up in bed to answer it, almost overwhelmed by the wave of relief that courses through you at the sound of his voice. Mando seems tired but otherwise okay, telling you that he’s at an outpost several klicks away. You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, taking great comfort in the fact that he’ll be sleeping in a warm bed.

“You’ll hear from me again soon,” and then it’s radio silence for three straight days.

Out of menial tasks to do, you try to sleep the days away, lounging in bed for hours at a time. The Child seems to be content with this, napping on and off and playing quietly when he is awake. Your head swims with images of what Mando could be up to, and few of them serve to comfort you. You’re not sure what about this mission has you so worked up, but you are, agonizing over every little scenario and circumstance. It’s the weather, you think, and the fact that this planet is so desolate. If he gets hungry or tired, there’s so few places for him to seek refuge. More than anything, though, your heart seizes at the very notion of Mando being cold. Something about that thought upsets you more than all the others, and it’s the hardest to shake once it enters your head.

The comm crackles to life again on day six, and you nearly burst into tears when you hear the message.

“I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”

Just like the first time, a virtual tsunami of white-hot relief washes over your entire body. Every muscle in your body suddenly twitches to life, and it’s as if you were never sedentary in the first place. You fix a quick dinner, something hot and easy to gulp down, and then you throw two blankets and a change of clothes for Mando into the ship’s little dryer. There’s no harm done if he doesn’t want them, but you think it would be better to be safe than sorry.

Not even two minutes after you’re done with these chores, the back hatch creaks open, two sets of footsteps clanging against the metal. The quarry is surprisingly calm, speaking in a level, even tone even as Mando tells him to step into the carbonite chamber. You hear the freezing mechanisms engage, and then the Mandalorian is coming down the little hall and right to you.

Frost clings to every bit of him, the curves of his armor glittering under the artificial light. Even still, Mando looks good, he looks strong— you see no obvious signs of injury, and nothing about his stance or demeanor indicates that he’s in any pain. Still, you worry, so you ask if he’s alright, hiking the baby up on your hip.

“I’m fine,” Mando affirms, nodding slowly. “You?”

“Me and the baby are great,” you say at once, because you are. “Better now that you’re back.”

Mando nods again, and not for the first time since you met him do you wish you could see the expression on his face.

“You ready to get off this fucking planet?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Yes, Mando, I’m ready to get off this planet.”

An amused huff through the vocoder, and then Mando’s headed for the ladder. You find a comfortable, stable place to sit, bracing yourself as the thrusters rumble to life. The ship lurches, and then you’re climbing up up up through Hoth’s atmosphere, headed most likely for Nevarro.

Mando’s gone for maybe ten minutes total, but he comes down with an empty bowl nonetheless, confirming that he did indeed eat his dinner. The baby clings to his father from then on, though Mando doesn’t seem to mind, holding the little bug on his hip as he does a bit of quick unpacking. You’re content to watch the two of them together for a while, something warm blooming in your chest every time Mando turns to look at you. You can’t believe you were ever upset with him before he left, and for something so trivial as not wanting to share your bed. His affection would make you happy, yes, but nothing could ever compare to how you feel in this moment knowing that your little family is safe and complete.

It doesn’t take long for the baby to tire out, his eyes already drooping and Mando sets him down gently in his pram. You tell the Child goodnight, stroking his face with a gentle touch until you know he’s asleep. Mando clicks the pram shut, and then it’s just the two of you alone in the silence of hyperspace. It’s gotten late, and you yourself aren’t too turned off by the idea of going to bed.

You go to your little pallet on the floor, fussing with some of your blankets as Mando walks behind you. He sidles up to the ‘fresher door, declaring, “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Okay,” is all you, fully expecting the conversation to be over. But then Mando pauses in the doorway, head turned in your direction.

“Make up the bed for us?”

It takes you about four whole seconds to process the words coming out of his mouth, and even after you’ve discerned their meaning, you decide that this must be a dream. But no. No, Mando’s still looking at you over his shoulder, the question still hanging in the air all around the both of you. Remembering yourself, you nod.

“I— Yeah. Yeah, I’ll make up the bed.”

Mando nods, and then he’s gone.

Heart pounding in your chest, you begin immediately, dragging Mando’s mattress out of his bunk, sliding yours up beside it. You throw a big blanket over both of them, folding the edges under and praying they’ll stay together during the night. It’s in this moment that you remember the things you put in the dryer earlier, and you curse yourself as you rush to turn it back on. The blankets in there will be fine for you and Mando to cover up with, so you just throw down a couple of pillows and call the bed done. And it’s a good thing, too, because the water cuts off in the ‘fresher not a second later.

Knocking gently on the door, you call out to Mando. “I have some clothes in the dryer for you,” you say, and it feels so strange to just _talk_ to him right now. “You know, if you’re still cold.”

“Let me have them,” Mando calls back, and then the ‘fresher door opens just the ittiest bittiest bit. You hand the clothes over with your head turned, and then Mando emerges minutes later looking so unlike himself.

He’s got the helmet on, of course, but everything else is gone. The beskar, the boots, the utility belt— it’s just him, just his body dressed in plain clothes and a pair of socks. Mando’s by no means a small man, there’s no debating that, but he looks… _softer_ like this. More approachable. You like it.

“Go lie down,” the Mandalorian commands, the tone of his voice picking at something hot and raw inside you. Needless to say, you rush to do as he says.

Mando walks around for a moment, checking on the baby, looking to see if the hatch the cockpit is closed. You watch him closely, nervous energy churning in the pit of your stomach. Finally, he comes to you, standing above the little bed you’ve made here on the floor.

“Close your eyes.”

Once again, you don’t hesitate to follow his directions. There’s a click, the sound of shuffling, and then you feel Mando sliding into bed beside you.

“Open your eyes, _cyar’ika._ ”

 _No vocoder_ , is all you have time think before something not unlike panic seizes your body.

“Mando, why don’t you—?”

“Just open your eyes,” he presses, and… and there’s nothing there.

All you see is inky, all-encompassing blackness, the entire hull void of any and all light. You take a moment to become accustomed to seeing without being able to see, reaching across the bed to gauge where Mando is next to you. It’s a shock to find him so close, but you’re not about to complain.

“Is this… is this _allowed_?” you ask, growing shy when Mando takes your hands in his own. He tugs you forward, and you go willingly, tucking yourself up against his chest like you’ve been doing it all your life.

“Can you see me?” Mando asks.

You shake your head. “I can’t see anything.”

“Then it’s allowed.”

The urge to bicker about this hasn’t left you, but it’s certainly fading fast. “But you’re not supposed to take your—”

“I’m not supposed to show anyone my _face_. Never said I couldn’t take my helmet off.”

Mando’s correction is a gentle one, but his words are enough to lay the subject to rest. The two of you lie beside one another like that for a long time, breathing, becoming accustomed to being in each other’s arms. You can’t remember the last time someone simply held you, though your mind conjured images from a time long past. They’re just vague little whisps of memory, flashes of you laid out in a shopkeeper’s bed on Tatooine, but you don’t remember that being nearly this good. Mando is warm and solid in front of you, and he holds you… You’d say he holds you like you’re something precious, but you aren’t sure if that would be going a step too far.

Some small, insecure part of you is sure that this is going to be ruined any second. Mando’s going to decide he doesn’t want to do this, or worse yet, he’ll decide that he wants more and you’ll have to tell him you’re not ready for that. It’s not like you haven’t—

“Your pulse is fast,” Mando says, making you flinch in surprise.

“What?” you ask stupidly, because… what?

“Your pulse,” Mando repeats, “it’s fast. Why?”

And if you weren’t anxious before, you certainly are now. Leave it to a fucking master warrior to comment on something as miniscule as your _heartbeat_ …

“I— I’m nervous, I guess. To be here with you like this.”

Mando rubs your back with one strong, warm hand, and think you might actually start purring.

“You don’t need to be,” he murmurs. “Sleep, _cyar’ika_.”

And though nothing Mando’s said is actually very comforting, you do relax.

Minutes later, the two of you are sound asleep.


End file.
